The Sedalia weekly bazoo. [volume] (Sedalia, Mo.) 187?-1904, 1887-08-30

II am Mark Jefferys," said the artist, COM
posedly. ayes, / am boarding at Squire
Honeywell's house. And your
II am Roxy Stephens" said the girl,
hurriedly pulling down her calico sleeves
Gn you viii just step up to the house viii
give you jar of wild plums that promised
to Docia; that is" with an abrupt conscious
ness of her own temerity) IF you don't mind
carrying it."
And this was the manner of their first &C.
quaintance.
Roxy was very sorry when Mr. Jefferys re-
turned to the city. Itseemed as il his absence
left yawning hiatus in her life, which had
not previously been eventful or rich in incl
dent But she did not know how more than
sorry Mark Jefferys was to part from her.
s'FuIl many flower is born to blush un-
seen,'" he quoted to himself, after the hack
neyed style Of the young man in general
when the little winged god has him at dis
advantage. "But she shall not blush unseen
if my pictures in this years exhibition bring
their price. She shall be my wife-always
supposing that she considers me worthy Of
the treasure trove of her love. / will wear
her like a flower on my heart. think-yes,
think she likes me little now. am quite
sure that if i had the chance could make
her like me just little more"
And so now and then he ventured to write
to her, lest by any chance she might forget
that such a person existed.
Now in real life things will sometimes hap
pen as strangely as they do in novels. Every
one knows this. And it came to pass that In
the mid-April time, when skies above and
violets below are blue with a blueness thatno
description can equal, Docis Honeywell
came up to New York to buy herself silk
dress, and asked Roxanna Stephens to accom-
pany her.
II never like to trust entirely TO my own
taste, said Docia, "and you have such excel
lent ideas of color, Roxy"
When the dress was duly settled upon-one
of those delicious olives which, like the hair
Of the poets heroine, was
"Brown in the shadow and gold in the SUM-
there was yet good hour and q half to spare
before the train went.
aOh, do let us go to the Academy of De-
signI" said Roxy; at can't be far. And /
think 1t would rest my eyes to look at some
pictures
1t was a fine sunshiny, breezy afternoon,
and all the world was out Roxy came slowly
up the broad marble steps, looking around at
the giant palms, and the caoutchouc leaves,
and the monster camellia trees, whose dark
green foliage shone as if it had been garnished.
Beyond glowed the pictures, outlined in gold;
full Of vivid lights and deep mysterious shad-
ows A little crowd had collected before one
particular canvas, and following the usual
impulse Of human nature, Docia and Roxy
left the other pictures possibly possessed of
equal merit-unsurveyed and joined the fiut-
tering, perfumed knot Of gazers.
"The picture IF the season" she heard some
one saying in the soft, distinct tones that de-
note your society oracle; /" La Jolie Blanchis-
seuse' Would you believe that that little
square of canvas has been sold for $1,000?
Its a charmingly painted thing-oh, Of course
but, after all, what is there to iti"
at it the sentiment, the toner answered
wise critic who was penciling down notes for
an art paragraph in the next days Sphinx.
@In this age of the world nobody can tell
what's going to succeed and what isn't. The
public pulse don't bear feeling as it used
Little Roxy, in her plain brown gown and
the poke hat OF rough and ready straw, with
the loops of cherry ribbon which she herself
had sewn on, stood on tiptoe TO peep over the
shoulder of the tall lady in front Of her at
the picture
@Ah, Docia!" she cried, starting back, as
she caught glimpse Of il, with the strange
sensation of one who looks into mirror, 81
have seen that before"
In the foreground q crystal clear brook
gurgled away under a fringe Of luxuriant
crosses; in the middle distance there was the
green mystery Of chestnut shadows on the
grass, and a young girl asleep, with bare
white arms, and sun bonnet fallen down her
neck, while an open book lay on the ground.
A red winged blackbird balanced itself on q
bush at her right. and in the background
line full of fluttering clothes seemed to come
and 60 at the signal Of the wind One could
almost hear the murmur of the brook, almost
see the stir of the tall grasses in the yellow
mist of the noontide heats 1t was a very
simple picture, TO be sure, but it is the simple
pictures that speak to peoples hearts nova
days
Docia stared intently.
at looks like you, Roxy" she said, Sand
that is the very chestnut tree with the hollow
heart that blew down in the equinoctial gale
last March. Have you found the number in
the catalogue! Who painted itl All, 1 thought
so-Mark Jefferys."
Roxy turned around with curious thrill,
half of pride, half anger, in her heart, and
saw a tall figure coming toward them from
the monster palms that guarded the stairway
beyond-Mark Jefferys himself.
@You have seen the picture, Roxyr he
sid la Jolie Blanchisseuser Dearest
drawing her away from the crowd into the
cool green shadow Of the giant ferns and the
caoutchouc trees-@my fortune is made, and
all through you, and 1 was coming tomorrow
to lay it at your feet
1t was a strange place for a young man to
speak out his heart in; but Mark Jefferys was
like no other man, and Roxy had a certain
individuality Of her own And Z was then
the lover. and y the tender little futtering
maiden heart, and what should it equal but
z-the old, old story of human happiness,
that repeats itself anew for every generations
Was it not as plain as any of the algebraic
equations i'm Roxys books at schooli-Lucy
Randall Coruforf in Harneriz Razar